One by one, one by one.
In the kindred light of the April sun,
While primrose and snowdrop gem the ground.
And the birds are mating and building around,
While violets blossom their steps to greet,
With laughing voices and dancing feet.
With wakening fancy and budding hope,
Beyond my reach, and beyond my scope.
They pass, while in fear and douot I stand,
Out of my hand, out of my hand.

Baby pleasure, and baby care,
Not one of them but was mine to share;
Not a tear, but I dried it with a kiss,
Not a smile, but I joined in its eager bliss;
Now, the young knight arms for the coming strife.
The sweet girl-fancies start to life,
They nestle, the maiden shyness beneath.
As the bright buds hide in their silken sheath.
By spring dews nourished, spring breezes fanned.
Out of my hand, out of my hand.

I dare not trench on thy realm, my boy,
Nor rob thy sway of one virgin joy;
I dare not touch with my faltering fingers
The blooms where the light of sunrise lingers.
Nor drag to the garish light of day,
What youth*s proud reticence would delay;
I can but wait outside it all.
Where the cold winds sigh and the brown leaves fall ;
Oh, the castles I built! oh, the joys I planned!
Out of my hand, out of my hand.

Yet did I not bear them in peril and pain,
Did I not lavish, and watch, and refrain;
Quitting the pleasures of parting youth.
The glories of science, and art, and truth.
That the paths for those little feet might be
Fresh, and sunny, and safe, and free;
Scheme, and vision, and hope of mine.
They were but those golden heads to shrine;
Now, alone and tired, slow drops the sand,
Grain by grain, from my failing hand.

Father of all, Saviour of all.
Behold at Thy altar-steps I fall;
Thou wilt not disdain ihnt I come at last,
With my treasure spent, and my noon-day past;
Take Thou the guidance that I resign,
Take this hard embittered heart of mine.
Take the bafHed ambition, ungranted prayer,
Baseless terror, repining care;
Guide each fairy bark to the heavenly strand.
Take my darlings, my darlings, to Thy hand.

Nay, Music, thou art young! Not long ago
⁠Thou hadst but rounded to thy perfect form.
⁠Thy virginal, sweet heart was hardly warm,
And little knew of passion or of woe.

Now, prescient darling of the world's old age —
⁠Born to its gather'd wealth, its subtlety
⁠And sadness — thou can'st sound the soundless sea,
Deeper than line of deepest thought can gauge.

Thy voice, veil'd seraph serving among men,
⁠Wakes strains in us immortal as thine own;
O say thou wilt not vanish from our ken,
⁠Fly our dim earth as elder lights have flown,

And leave us dumb amidst the tuneful spheres,
With nothing lasting to the end but tears!

My heart was heavy, for its trust had been
Abused, its kindness answered with foul wrong;
So, turning gloomily from my fellow-men.
One summer Sabbath-day I strolled among
The green mounds of the village burial-place,
Where, pondering how all human love and hate
Find one sad level, and how, soon or late.
Wronged and wrong-doer, each with meekened face,
And cold hands folded over a still heart.
Pass the green threshold of our common grave.
Whither all footsteps tend, whence none depart,
Awed for myself, and pitying my race.
One common sorrow like a mighty wave
Swept all my pride away, and trembling I forgave!

Welcome, pale primrose! starting up between
⁠Dead matted leaves of ash and oak that strew
⁠The every lawn, the wood, and spinney through,
'Mid creeping moss and ivy's darker green;
⁠How much thy presence beautifies the ground!
How sweet thy modest unaffected pride
Glows on the sunny bank and wood's warm side
⁠And where thy fairy flowers in groups are found,
The schoolboy roams enchantedly along,
⁠Plucking the fairest with a rude delight:
While the meek shepherd stops his simple song,
⁠To gaze a moment on the pleasing sight;
O'erjoyed to see the flowers that truly bring
The welcome news of sweet returning spring.